


forgive me o lord, for hate is just another kind of attraction

by hellaheim (squishymage)



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, UST that eventually turns into RST, Unreliable Narrator, Wilderness Survival, canon-divergent, excessive debates over various blades and their proper uses, for shaaaame, graphic descriptions of injury and gore, i cant believe theres no tag for ragnar. for shame, loss of innocence through violence, thorfinn's Soft Side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishymage/pseuds/hellaheim
Summary: A freak storm separates the young Prince and his appointed bodyguard from their party. Now they must learn to survive the treacherous wild, and also learn to survive each other's tempers.





	1. prologue - snowblind

**Author's Note:**

> ~{ this is a canon-divergent au that takes place in the prologue just before the gang raids that poor english village, so around the ch.26 to ch.28 mark! i wanted to see how our boys would fair in a situation where they're forced to depend on each other, so this little fic was born heh heh heh
> 
> please do send a comment if you have any thoughts!

Canute was aching, tired, and possibly worst of all, he was cold. The storm had only gotten worse the farther they marched, and he threw a silent glare in the direction of Askeladd’s shadow. It was depressing, and a sense of frustrated hopelessness had fallen on the men in the band. The snowfall was so thick and blinding they could barely see a foot in front of them. Canute could just barely make out Ragnar's shape ahead of him, and he had lost track of Thorfinn a while ago, not that he cared much about _that_. The impudent boy could freeze for all he cared.

However, a wave of guilt washed over him nearly as soon as the thought passed through his mind. Yes, Thorfinn was rude and crass, and an absolute jerk, but no one deserved to freeze in this snow. What would his Father think of these wrathful thoughts? He would have to pray later, when they settled down for camp. Whenever that may be.

He looked up at the sky then, risking his face to the freezing wind. The clouds above him were a dull white, the same white on the ground and in the air, and the sun above them was still bright enough to hurt his eyes. It was absolutely dizzying, being surrounded by a never ending expanse of the same white, and he had to stop to blink and rub away the sudden tears of pain when a body bumped into his back without warning. The body growled in his ear;

“What’s the matter, princess? Keep walkin’.” 

Ah… the subject of Canute’s guilty thoughts. Thorfinn growled again and elbowed passed him, making Canute flinch away. That had hurt, how dare he! Canute was going to give him a piece of his mind.

“H- how d-dare you! Don’t touch me! You… you’re not allowed to touch me unless we are in dire circumstances!” Canute thrust an angry finger at Thorfinn’s face, who in turn raised an unimpressed brow.

“I think you getting in my way is a pretty dire circumstance, Freja-face.” 

“You _wish_ you had my face, you ugly dog!” 

“It’s funny how you think yer opinion of me matters.”

Canute seethed, gritting his teeth. The biting wind whipped the parts of his hair that weren’t hidden under his hood against his face, and snow clung to his fringe and eyelashes. Thorfinn’s words always stung, though he didn’t know why, and that in itself was frustrating beyond belief. It shouldn’t matter, _he_ shouldn’t matter, much less his opinion, but it did and it made Canute hate the other boy all the more. This hate was petty and ugly and went against everything he was taught as a Christian, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Guilt be damned, may the Lord forgive him.

Turning away from the boy in front of him, Canute turned his nose high in the air. “Whatever. I don’t care about you or your words. I’m going to-”

But the words died on his tongue as soon as Canute opened his eyes. Panic clawed up his throat like a mad hound; cold, sharp claws digging into his very core, making him feel feverish even through the chill.

He couldn’t see Ragnar. 

 

He couldn’t see anyone.


	2. boiling point

Thorfinn stood firm beside the Prince, his keen eyes staring through the harsh winter wind. He knew panicking would do no good, so he stood and breathed and watched. Sadly, the Prince didn’t seem to get the same idea, as he was screaming himself hoarse.

“RAGNAR! _RAGNAAAR!_ PLEASE, CAN ANYONE HEAR US?!”

Snarling, Thorfinn jabbed his elbow into Canute’s side again, causing him to let out a pitiful yelp. 

“There’s no point in yelling so loud, the wind is carrying yer voice away.”

The Prince whipped his blond head around to stare at Thorfinn, his hood falling away in the process. His eyes were wide with fear, and Thorfinn could see faint teartracks already starting to freeze on his fair face. He didn’t feel any pity. Instead, he reached out to grab Canute by the wrist, not bothering to control the strength of his grip.

“What we have to do right now is not fucking _panic like a girlchild_ and find the other’s footprints before they’re covered up. Got it?” 

“I--” The Prince’s mouth trembled once before his face seemed to freeze over. This must have been what Cone Head had meant when he said that the kid had deadened his mind. Thorfinn could barely hear his voice, but that didn’t matter, his input wasn’t needed or wanted right now.

“Y- yes.” 

He let go of Canute to dig around in the satchel at his hip, bringing out a small length of rope that he usually used to tie his hair back with. Canute watched him silently, hunched in on himself and shivering.

“This is one of yer damn ‘dire circumstances’, and since I can’t have you runnin’ off looking for your old Cone Head…” Thorfinn made to grab at Canute’s wrist again, rope held up between them at the ready, but Canute backed away.

“ _No!_ I- I will not have you tie me up like a slave! Are you crazy?!” 

Thorfinn rolled his eyes, caught Canute’s arm, and tugged him forward to tie a loop of the rope around his wrist. He tied the other end on his own, tightening the knot with his teeth.

“Quit your damn whining already. I’ll never hear the end of it if I lose you in a fuckin’ storm of all things.” 

With a tug on the rope from Thorfinn’s end, they started to trudge through the snow once more. He could hear Canute muttering in anger behind him and he smirked- any victory is a great one against this kid, no matter how small. 

“You’ll be punished for this, mark my words…” 

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, focusing instead on trying to find any trace of the party’s footprints. The snow was near blinding, and Thorfinn kept having to wipe tears created from the wind in his face from his eyes. He couldn’t keep a steady gaze and the snow only seemed to fall harder the more they pushed forward.

Kneeling in the snow, Thorfinn wanted to scream. They shouldn’t have wandered that far, though it was possible that the party had turned a few degrees in another direction while they stayed true. He had to find them soon in that case. Even a small pond could end up as a lake someday, and the same could be said for distance regarding a change in direction. It was maddening, watching the tracks disappear before his very eyes. He should have been paying more attention to everyone else instead of this prissy little _brat._ The farther they went the more the tracks were being buried and it- it was--

“This is all your fault.” Thorfinn hissed, standing up from his crouch. He felt rather than saw Canute flinch back once more, heard him utter a noise of confusion. He turned, rope taut between them, and stared the Prince in the face.

“This. Is all. Your. Fault.” 

He watched Canute’s eyes widen once more with a grim satisfaction, though he didn’t have a smile to match. This was serious, it was about as serious as you could get bar from dealing with a broken leg alone in the snow and it was _Canute’s fault_.

The Prince backed away as Thorfinn took a step forward, fear still bright in his eyes.

“I- no, I- I didn’t- I can help! L- look, I...” Fumbling, Canute plunged nervous hands into his ridiculous red cloak, pulling out a clear stone set in intricately carved wood from a hidden pocket. He held it firmly in his shaking fingers, holding it out for Thorfinn to take. The sunstone was obviously not his, most likely belonging to Ragnar instead, and Thorfinn wasn’t surprised to see it being carried by such an inexperienced child. That man was far too doting on his little Prince.

Thorfinn smacked it out of Canute’s hand, causing it to fly away and land deep into the snow somewhere to their right. The Prince cried out, starting to chase after it, but Thorfinn held the rope firm.

“What fucking good is a sunstone going to do us right now?! We don’t need to know where the fucking sun is, we need to know where Askeladd is!! Fuck- _Fuck!_ ”

Thorfinn yelled wordlessly, his voice cracking with the force of his frustration, and he yanked hard on the rope connecting him to the Prince. Canute tripped over his feet, stumbling into Thorfinn with all his weight. Thorfinn stumbled back, trying to get the Prince off of him, but his heart leaps into his throat when his foot slides off the ground and into thin air and suddenly they’re falling. 

The world tilts. Thorfinn’s back hits something hard and the wind leaves his chest in a rush. He hears Canute scream, feels hands and legs and a head knock into him as well, and he just barely manages to remember his reward for a job well done in protecting the Prince and that alone gives him the strength to hold onto the other falling body as securely as he can manage. Snow flies everywhere; in his eyes, his mouth, his nose, and he doesn’t know what’s up or down anymore. He can’t tell where the sky is, but he knows he’s got the Prince, his stupid blond head is tucked under the thick fabric of the mantel on his tunic.  
They slide down, down, _down_ , and roll once more off a ledge. Thorfinn feels ill, like his first time at sea, like his first time killing, and the last thing he sees in the darkness behind his eyelids is his father’s eyes before sharp pain blooms in the back of his head, and his world truly goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----
> 
> ~{ for those of you who don't know, a sunstone (or solar stone) is a polished bit of Iceland spar, or calcite! its a completely clear and see-through gemstone that was used by vikings to navigate on the sea, and to find the angle of the sun when it was overcast. proof that the vikings and Norse used sunstones was only recently found, since the Norse didn't tend to write this stuff down haha. it was described as a magical stone, and were mentioned in lots of sagas. they were most likely only bare stone and not set in anything, but since Ragnar is a lord n' all, i wanted to give him something fancy ^u^
> 
> if you wanna read more about sunstones, this article is a good start!  
> midgardwear . com / index . php / history / 223-not-just-the-stuff-of-legend-famed-viking-sunstone-did-exist


	3. splinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~{ whew, it feels good to post a chapter of proper length! 
> 
> a small disclaimer before we begin: like thorfinn, never in my life have a set any kind of bone before. take everything he does with a grain of salt and enjoy the whump for what it is
> 
> \-----

As he slept, Thorfinn dreamt of green and blue. Rolling hills stretched farther than the eye could see, surely farther than the sky itself, a land larger than even Ymir the Midgard giant. This wasn’t the home he remembered, it was far too warm even for Iceland’s summers. No, the plants were much too lush, the sky too bright, and he couldn’t smell the sea. The sun, high in the sky, was round and warm instead of hanging low and silver near the horizon. But it felt like home. It felt like it _should_ be home.  
Shadows from the foliage above danced across his face, and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the golden light peeking through the branches of the tree he was laying under. He didn’t recognize the leaves, both shape and colour being odd. Leaves surely shouldn’t be this wine dark before the harvest?

Thorfinn sat up when he heard a faint voice call to him. Blearily, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The voice called again, so sweet it nearly sounded like someone kulning cattle.

“Mmnuh..?” he mumbled, finding it hard to speak for some reason. There was a figure, far away on one of the gentle hills, bathed in sunlight. Thorfinn couldn’t make out who it was, but it was obvious that they were the one calling to him.

“ _Thorfinn!_ ”

The figure’s voice was carried by the sweet wind that blew through the long grass and tousled Thorfinn’s hair. He could see the colours the stranger was wearing now. A red cloak billowed around sparkling silver, and long hair almost as gold as the sun above them flew free in the breeze. Surely it wasn’t anyone he knew. What use would chainmail be here anyway? When there were no wars around for miles and miles.

Shrugging, Thorfinn stretched his arms up above his head until he felt a nice pop before sinking back against the roots of his tree. What a nice day, if only he could share it with a friend.

“ _No, no, don’t go back to sleep, Thorfinn! Wake up!_ ”

“Uuruugh,” he waved off the irritating voice, trying to get comfortable and continue his afternoon nap. Didn’t this person have something better to do?

“ _Wake up!_ ”

His head hurt. When had he hurt his head?

“ _Wake_ up!!” A hand struck his face, his eyes flew open, and suddenly the tree and the sun and the grass were gone, replaced instead by a deep aching in the back of his head and a fresh sting in his cheek.

“Oh- thank the Lord above..,” Canute sighed, bringing the hand he’d used to slap the other boy to his chest. “I thought.. surely you had died. Don’t move, I- I need to wrap your head.”

“Mnuhhhwhat?” Replied Thorfinn. As much as he hated taking orders, especially from a bratty princeling, he had to agree that for once Canute was right. He stayed on his back in the snow, letting the chill creep into the parts of him that ached, and did a quick mental check on his bearings.

Ribs definitely bruised, it hurt to breath, but not so much as to warrant broken ribs. Hands worked, feet worked. He didn’t feel any pains in his gut, so that boded well. And the Prince was shuffling about next to him, so it looks like he wasn’t too hurt either. The snow must have cushioned most of their fall. He felt like he should at least thank Asa Thor for that, but he was still too pissed off to thank anyone. 

He’d certainly lost Askeladd after that tumble.

Gritting his teeth, Thorfinn forced himself not to think about it and instead opened his eyes to their surroundings. 

It would appear that they’d fallen down a ravine. A deep one at that, if the cliff face was anything to go by. It was easily as tall as a giant. Maybe Hela had finally caught up to him and they’d landed directly into her realm. That’d just be the honey on the sweetbread.

The sound of fabric tearing brought him out of his thoughts, and without moving his head, Thorfinn turned his gaze over to the other boy. Canute was using one of his knives to tear a strip of cloth from his long overtunic. 

“Tha’s for throwin’, not cuttin’.” He mumbled. Canute just rolled his eyes and tore off another strip of the fine woven fabric. How Thorfinn could manage to still be irritable was beyond him, and he didn’t care for it.

“Silence. You’re bleeding, and a head wound is dangerous if left unattended.” The Prince shuffled up behind Thorfinn’s head, and while he couldn’t see him anymore, the image of someone so fair and seemingly untouchable crawling on his hands and knees for him brought a grin to Thorfinn’s face.

Canute seemed to ignore this, choosing instead to help push Thorfinn into a sitting position nearly as patient and gentle as a mother would. What the fuck? One minute this kid was calling him a dog and an ugly knave and the next… well, Thorfinn guessed that this must be what ‘common decency’ was, not that he would know a thing about that. 

Carefully and without words, the Prince bandaged Thorfinn’s head. He even used handfuls of snow to wash the sticky blood from his matted hair. He could feel his cheeks burn despite the cold all around him. It was embarrassing to depend on someone like this, but before he could say anything about it, Canute spoke.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Thorfinn’s reply was a gruff _’No’_ and, seeing that the rope that had been keeping them together had been snapped, he stood up without caring if he jostled the other boy behind him to get a better look at his surroundings. It was a ravine alright; there was even a stream, though they’d fallen on a shallow ledge a few feet above it through some miracle. Thorfinn grunted and jabbed a thumb towards the water.

“That’ll probably lead to a river, which means there’ll be a village nearby. The plan was to stop by a village anyway, so we’ll follow it.” Without looking behind him, Thorfinn started to search their ledge for any supplies or weapons that had fallen out of his satchel. His father’s short sword was still securely in its sheath, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that.

He hadn’t been expecting any help, but when he didn’t hear the Prince get up from where he was sitting, he took a moment to look over his shoulder at him.

“What? You hurt or something? Stand up.” 

 

Canute startled at his voice, having had been concentrating on something. “I- I…”, he stuttered, but his tongue froze in his mouth. 

When it was clear that no more communication was to be had, Thorfinn let out a frustrated hiss and started to stalk back towards the Prince, but Canute yelped in clear pain when he tried to hoist him up on his feet. Confused, Thorfinn let him back down onto the snow and kneeled, grabbing an edge of that stupid red cloak and tossing it aside.

And there it was. Canute was sitting lopsided on his knees, favouring a good leg. The cloak had been hiding it, but it was obvious that he’d hurt it in the fall with the way he had his left foot carefully resting away from him. Fuck.

“ _Fuck!!_ ”

Canute averted his gaze as Thorfinn kicked a pile of snow off the ledge in frustration. 

“Great! Just _great!_ When were you gonna tell me, stupid?! Were you expecting me to carry you through this fuckin’ gorge?! Cause it’s not happening!” 

“No! Of course not, don’t be foolish!” Canute snapped back, face flushed a light red from his own anger and frustration. “I was going to tell you! Of course I was! But I had to take care of _you_ first!” 

“You calling me a burden, Dolly Face?” A dark glint slid over Thorfinn’s eyes as he crouched down in front of Canute, getting in his space. “Y’know if it were up to me, I’d leave you here on your lame leg and find the others by myself.” 

The Prince’s gaze held strong, something that surprised Thorfinn nearly as much as it pissed him off, though he didn’t let it show on his face.

“What’s stopping you then. From leaving me here?” 

 

A silence followed, the icy air turning thick with weighted tension as neither boy seemed to want to break their stare. A bird of prey flew high above them, it’s quick shadow sliding over their deep valley of snow fast as a blink. 

“S’none of your fucking business.” Thorfinn muttered, finally breaking their stare-off to reach for the Prince’s injured leg. Canute’s eyes followed him, watching wide eyed and wary as Thorfinn started to feel and poke at his calf. Thorfinn felt his face heating up again as he worked.

“Shut up. Gotta see if you got a broken bone.” 

“Oh..” 

Thorfinn sat down properly, legs crossed. If the Prince’s leg really was broken, they were gonna be in it for the long haul. What a fucking bother.  
The Prince’s boots were laced right up to the top, and it was a struggle for Thorfinn to use his freezing fingers to undo the knot. Quickly running out of patience for it, he took one of the throwing knives out of his satchel to cut through the leather thong. He waited for a complaint as he put the knife away, but it never came. Interesting. 

“I thought those knives were just for throwing?” the Prince teased, clearly smug about his jest. Thorfinn scowled as he undid the boot’s laces. 

“And I thought I told you to shut up. You hit yer head too or something, you brat?” 

The Prince didn’t answer, so Thorfinn continued to pretend that he was nothing but a leg he had to fix. However the quiet wasn’t to last, as Canute yelped again when Thorfinn tried to actually take the boot off. Caught off guard, Thorfinn snapped his head up to watch the reaction. The Prince’s normally mild face was twisted with pain, his eyes closed to it as he leant back and away from the source. Shit, that won’t solve anything, but at least he knew where the problem was now.

“Ankle?” Thorfinn asked, and Canute nodded, gritting his teeth as he reached out with a hand to grip at his trouser leg, knuckles white. Thorfinn put the Prince’s leg back down as carefully as he knew how. 

“Right. Shit, uhh..,” He was floundering now. If it really was a straight up break, he had no idea how to set a bone. The boot had probably been holding everything together too, and he just undid _everything_. Shit, shit, shit. What would Askeladd do? 

He threw a quick glance to his left and right, and by chance spotted a fallen collection of branches near the stream’s edge. They must have been carried down there from the wind, though the snow had stopped falling now, which boded well for a short climb down to retrieve them.

“Okay, right,” He stood up again, wheezing in the process as he braced a hand against his ribs. Damn that bruise, but he’d just have to get on with it. Keeping his eyes on the branches by the water, Thorfinn jabbed a finger at the Prince.

“Stay.” He ordered. Not bothering to stay himself for any sort of reply, he made his way to the bank. It was steep and wet, covered in half melted snow and mud from the running water, lazy as it was. Thorfinn had maneuvered on worse terrain however, and made short work of the steep slope, jumping the last few hands down to the riverbed. Getting back up would be more of a hassle, but not as much as an injured Prince without a splint.

 

Thorfinn trudged through the water, stooping to collect the strongest looking branches as he went, and finding yet another one of his random collection of throwing knives embedded in the mud. At least one good thing came out of all this trouble.

Branches now retrieved, he vaulted them one by one up on the ledge before taking a few steps back into the stream to get a running start back up the slope. The water was biting cold, but it shook away the last of the dizziness in his head. With sharpened vision, Thorfinn dashed forwards and up, using jutting stones and hanging roots to keep himself going until he landed safe back on the ledge. A few feet away, the Prince was still whimpering to himself. He was obviously not well practiced in managing pain, and had probably never broken a bone before.

“Gonna make a splint. Might take a while. I aint a doctor or anything, so uh…,” The uncertain _I’ll see what I can do_ was left hanging invisible in the air, though Canute looked a bit too busy to care. The Prince’s face was somehow both pale and flushed, and he was sprawled on his side, propped up on an elbow and almost curled around himself. His left leg was in the exact spot Thorfinn had left it, though his foot was now at a slightly odd angle thanks to the loosened laces. Thorfinn really wasn’t the best with bone shit. He prayed that it was just a clean dislocation.

 

Shaking the thought away, Thorfinn grabbed the knife he found in the mud to swipe it twice through the snow instead. It was a shit attempt at cleaning it, but any more fussing about would just be wasting more valuable daylight. He’d already been knocked out long enough for the snow to stop, and he could feel the tension of an inescapable cold winter night with no tent, no fire, and no food dig its cruel hands into his shoulders.  
With the now cleaner knife in one hand and the longest branch he’d found in the other, he went back to kneeling in front of the Prince. He had to measure the right amount of wood to match the length of the shin, that much he knew, and it wouldn’t hurt to snap off a smaller piece to secure the bottom of the foot as well. Shit. this would take time. Time they really didn’t have.

After marking and scoring the right lengths he needed, Thorfinn broke each branch over his knee and got to work carving off the bark. The wood was damp, which made it soft and that much easier to cut through. He was making good time, all he had to do was secure everything to--- 

Secure everything. _Fuck_ , he’d forgotten about bindings. How could he forget about the bindings? Forget the Prince, he was the one who was a damned fool. 

Growling, Thorfinn tugged roughly at his hair, knuckles brushing against the scraps of fabric wrapped around his head. He was _wasting time._ What could he use? He had two cloaks and the rest of Canute’s tunic. Using any of those would be a stupid idea unless one of them wanted to freeze. Even using half of each cloak was a terrible idea.

“P- please, it hurts,” Canute nearly whispered, voice hushed by nausea. His heavy breath came out in clouds. “Th- Thorfinn, please..” 

Nervous panic was really starting to set in now. Thorfinn’s eyes bored a hole in the half carved wood in his hand. He was a warrior, for fucks sake, he can handle setting a bone. What would his father think if he could see him now.

He cast his eyes back over to the Prince. That foot was still in the same odd angle, the open laces leaving the expensive leather parted like a set of lungs through ribs. Wait-- 

“Okay. ‘Kay, right. I’ve gotta get yer boot off.”

If Thorfinn rushed back over to the Prince, you wouldn’t hear it from his mouth. He made quick work of the laces, tossing the thonging aside for later before he carefully, carefully, brought a hand under the Prince’s calf and lifted. The effect was instantaneous- Canute screaming, letting himself half fall half roll onto his back. Thorfinn grit his teeth, and with his other hand started to slide the heel out of the shoe.

Canute screamed and cried, his voice bouncing off the rocks around them and up into the sky. If they were lucky and the others were still close, at least Ear would be able to catch all the noise. And then Canute started to pray.

“PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU! GOD IN HEAVEN, PLEASE HAVE MERCY! _THORFIIINN!!_ ”

Fuck, that was annoying, but at least the heel was out. Now that there was enough room for a hand, Thorfinn took Canute’s ruined ankle in a firm and secure grip. The rest of the removal process was quick work, and Thorfinn let the now empty boot join the thong. Canute was nearly cross-eyed with pain.

“Lov’a the fucking Allfather, shut up already.” Thorfinn muttered, to himself more than anything else. His stomach was in knots, and he still had to discern whether it was a break or a dislocation.  
If he flexed his fingers a little, he could feel that there was a bit too much space between the join of the leg and the foot. Dislocation then. Hopefully. 

The Prince let out a heaving sob, reaching out to Thorfinn with both hands. He watched, transfixed by the display before him. He’d never seen the Prince like this before; they’d barely traded more than a handful of sentences to each other since they met, and here Prince Canute was before him, crying and reaching for him like a frightened child longing for their parent. Thorfinn felt something deep inside him that he didn’t have a name for start to crack.

“I’m… gonna set it now. It should feel better after that.”

He got no solid verbal response, the Prince instead starting to toss his head side to side in a vehement _no_.

“Look, do you want the pain to stop or not?! Now shut up and bite down on this if y’can’t handle it!”  
One hand still holding securely onto the Prince’s ankle, Thorfinn rummaged around in his satchel and brought out his gloves, shoving them into Canute’s grasping hands. With trembling fingers, Canute brought the gloves to his mouth and bit down. Fat tears rolled down his face, but he didn’t utter another sound.

Getting back to the task at hand, Thorfinn shuffled forward to get closer. He’d heard about needing a good amount of strength for this, so he wanted all the leverage he could get. With the Prince’s foot braced against the front of his shoulder, his leg was bent about ninety degrees.

“Y’want me to count?” Thorfinn tried to tease in the hopes of drawing another round of petty anger out of the other boy, but Canute just squeezed his eyes shut and nodded his head. He hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment he was stunned into silence. He gave into the request without thinking.

“One…”

Canute’s breath quickened, the clouds of warm breath pouring from his nose and mouth turning thin.

“Two…”

Thorfinn placed both hands above the bend of the Prince’s knee, and on the sound of three, he tugged short and fast. The resulting wet pop of a joint sliding back into place was sickening, and he grit his teeth together to bite back his own wave of nausea. The prince was quiet as a mouse, and a short look made Thorfinn realize that he had swooned. Well, at least he won’t have to deal with more squalling. 

He made short work of carving up the boot; taking the time to score the leather before tearing the strips apart with his teeth and hands. A few moments later all the pieces for the splint were finished, and Thorfinn set to work securing the small planks with the makeshift binding. He returned the now much shorter shoe to its owner when he was done. There wasn’t any of the lace left, but that just made for an easier fit around the new bulk. 

Looking up at the sky was a mistake, as Thorfinn realized the sun had shifted above the cloud cover. The dizzying white was turning into a grey, and if they didn’t get a move on they’d be sleeping in the cold with no shelter.

“Fuck…,” Thorfinn sighed. He dropped his head back down, rubbing out the pain that’d gathered in his neck. The Prince was still out of it, head lolled to the side and eyes half mast and unseeing. He looked like something had stolen his soul, sprawled out like that. It was unsettling. Thorfinn was used to seeing men broken open by steel, not broken by pain but still whole.

Putting the thought away, he shuffled over to give the Prince’s cheek a few firm taps.

“Hey. C’mon, wake up, Highness. We’ve wasted enough light.” 

Canute groaned, eyes rolling without purpose before focusing in on his bodyguard’s face. He stared, silent, but let himself be pulled upright.

Once they were both back on their feet, Thorfinn surprised both of them by taking the Prince’s arm and slinging it over his shoulder, effectively bracing Canute against his side. The Prince stared openly at him, still wordless and mouth slightly agape. Thorfinn refused to look, focusing on the path ahead as they limped along. 

“Said I wasn’t gonna carry you. Didn’t say I wasn’t gonna help you walk.” 

The resulting soft _’Oh’_ was nearly quiet enough to miss, but Thorfinn’s ear caught it. An frown coloured his face once more, though instead of anger, it was born of yet more embarrassment.

“Surprised y’didn’t attract any wolves with all that fucking screaming.” He muttered. More snow began to drift lazily down from the sky, but Canute grinned.

“Wolves don’t attack people unless they’re starved.”


	4. etch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canute has trouble adjusting, Thorfinn is broodier than ever
> 
> suggested listening is: St Jude by Florence and the Machine

It was late into the twilight hours when they spot the entrance to a cave. Thorfinn leaves the Prince by a tree to check the area for any animals that could cause trouble. Finding none, he waves an all clear at the mouth of the cave, leaving Canute to limp in the snow towards the shelter. 

The Prince arrived breathless and disgruntled, frowning down at Thorfinn who was in the middle of making a firepit. 

“You said you were going to help me walk.” Canute was nearly pouting, gingerly sitting on the ground across from the other boy. Thorfinn narrowed his eyes and pointed a twig at him menacingly.

“Don’t push your fuckin’ luck. I’ve been leading you around for hours. My debts been paid thrice fold. If you’re still complaining go find a walking stick or something.”

The Prince frowned, turning his gaze to the stone floor. The cave amplified the sound of Thorfinn striking flint with stone, and the first sizzle of sparks catching and holding was a welcomed one. 

Canute sighed. He hurt, particularly in his wrist and injured ankle, though the pain was nothing compared to before. He really should thank Thorfinn, it’d be the right thing to do, but a wall of stubborn pride kept his words at bay.

Thorfinn himself looked shattered now that they had found a place to rest. He’d never seen the boy this quiet, this subdued. That permanent frown was still firmly set in his brow, but the look in his eyes as he carefully fanned the fire to life was that of a man with tiredness etched into his bones. Canute recalled that Thorfinn usually kept to himself in Askeladd’s band, only really answering to Askeladd himself, or Bjorn if push really came to shove. He wondered if Thorfinn had anyone to talk to. He wondered if Thorfinn was as alone as he was.

Shuffling brought Canute out of his thoughts and he looked over across the now happily crackling fire at Thorfinn. The boy was rubbing at his wrist- the one that the rope had been tied to. Canute felt like he should say something.

“I…,” he opened his mouth, stuttering silently for a moment. Thorfinn raised a brow at him, looking nonplussed. “Um… I cut the rope. When I woke up. On you. Um.. t- th.. th…” 

Thorfinn rolled his eyes, shifting in place. “Just spit it out already would ya, Halt Tongue?”

“You shouldn't speak to me that way,” Canute scolded quietly, “I am a Prince, and more importantly I am your Prince. You could at least call me by name.”

His last few words were muttered so softly that he was sure Thorfinn hadn't heard them above the crackling fire.

“Not my prince.”

“Huh..?” Canute looked back up at the other boy, a confused and wide eyed expression on his face. 

“Not my prince. M’not a Dane.” Thorfinn mumbled through his teeth, as if chewing on a toothpick. 

“You're not?” The Prince replied, genuinely curious now. This was the most he's heard about Thorfinn's personal life since they'd met. “Where do you hail from?”

There was a pause then. The orange-yellow glow of the flames lit up Thorfinn's brown eyes, making them look like two gold coins. 

“... Iceland.”

Canute perked up, moving his splinted foot so that he can lean forward in interest. 

“Oh, I've never been to Iceland before. Tell me what it's like?”

Maybe it was because he sounded too eager, or maybe because he'd just crossed some sort of line, but Thorfinn stood up instead of answering, and looked towards the dark woods outside the mouth of their makeshift camp.

“M’gunna hunt.”

And that was all he left Canute with. For hours the Prince sat by the small fire, poking it every so often with a spare stick. He glared down at it, at the rope rash on his wrist. 

Stubborn fool.

 

-

 

Out in the snow, Thorfinn waited for prey in a snow covered hide and thought. The Prince was damn confusing. Why was he interested in the past all of a sudden? He didn’t remember anything about Iceland anyway, other than endless snow and freezing water, and…

Thorfinn closed his eyes to the memory of arrows whizzing through the air, to the taste of iron and salt on his tongue. He couldn’t get distracted now, he had a job to do, and he really didn’t want to sleep in the cold on an empty belly. 

With a renewed focus, Thorfinn stared out at a single point, letting his vision relax just enough to take in everything. He could see every twitching branch, every speck of snow falling from the pines. A faint rustling in a bush off to the side caught his ear, and he focused in on it. 

The rabbit didn’t last so much as half a breath once it stepped out from the underbrush, a dagger neatly imbedded in its side. A quick, painless death; more than a man on the battlefield could ever hope to have. Thorfinn stepped out from his hide to collect his quarry, cleaning his blade with snow after he pulled it from the carcass. 

He pushed through the knee-deep snow, rabbit held out slightly away from him so as to let it bleed, he quietly dreaded going back to the cave with the annoying Prince in it. He’d probably be left to do the task of preparing the meat to cook it too. Yet more work to do by himself.

When he returned, the fire was at least still blazing healthily. The Prince was sat in a pitiful ball, knees drawn up close to his chest and head down so his face was hidden by a wall of yellow hair. He looked pathetic, and Thorfinn didn’t spare him another glance as he sat just inside the entrance and started to do the work of skinning the rabbit. Unbeknownst to him, Canute had lifted his head to watch.

“I.. I can help.” He said, voice meek. Thorfinn gave him a skeptical look.

“Have you ever even seen unprepared food before?”

Canute seemed to puff up in anger. “Of course I have! Give it to me!”, he exclaimed, holding out a hand and waving it at Thorfinn. He still wasn’t convinced, but he walked further inside the cave to toss the half-skinned rabbit at Canute’s feet. The Prince’s hand was still held aloft, an impatient glint in his eyes.

“Your knife.” He said, expectant. Thorfinn smirked, though it looked more to Canute like a sneer. 

“Which one, _Highness?_ ” 

“The one you use for hunting.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed as he snatched up the blade Thorfinn produced from the side of his belt for him. “Do you truly see me as such an incompetent fool?” 

“Hard not to when you can barely speak without a stutter.” 

With his work now passed on, Thorfinn walked back to his previous spot at the fire, rolling his shoulders to release the soreness in them. Canute frowned but said nothing, and instead shifted into a more comfortable position to start skinning. He could feel the other boy’s eyes on him, and it made him uncomfortable. He hated being stared at but he ignored it, deadened himself to it, and slipped the knife between flesh and muscle once more. Once he’d finished he set the pelt aside, though he hesitated when he brought the knife to the rabbit’s belly. He could feel his face draining of colour at the thought of entrails, but Thorfinn was still watching and for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to look as helpless as he always felt.

Thorfinn was just _like that_ for him. It was so easy for the boy to get under his skin and it was infuriating. He’d spent his entire life learning to care not what people thought of him, learning to be as invisible as he could. He remembered once, when he was still just a small child, he’d become desperate enough for isolation that he’d stolen a book from the nearby monastery. There’d been a stave rune inside it, one that could seemingly actually turn the one who held it invisible. He’d copied the stave in ink onto a scrap of parchment, and had hidden it under his pillow. His father the King had been furious when a servant had found it and brought it to him, but Ragnar had been there for him after, and had let him cry onto his shoulder until he fell asleep. It was only now that Canute remembered that the stave had been Icelandic in origin.

The rabbit’s entrails slipped out from the slit Canute’s borrowed knife had created, and he clenched his teeth. Pulling back, Canute undid the clasp of his cloak to put it aside before pushing up his sleeves. He didn’t care if Thorfinn teased him for being fussy, he’d rather not get his clothes covered in offal of he could help it. 

Hands now trembling, Canute sank his fingers into the intestines to pull them out and set them aside. He tried to ignore the fact that everything was still warm and focused more on not rupturing any of the delicate membrane that made up the small stomach. He could still feel Thorfinn’s eyes on him, searing a hole into the side of his head. Despite himself, Canute’s eyes started to well up with tears of frustration. He wished Ragnar was here instead of this horrible man who sent his blood boiling and his stomach in knots.

He thought of the sunstone Ragnar had given him, now lost in the snow forever. It hurt, even though as a Prince he had enough coin to commission too many replacements to count. He didn’t have many things he truly enjoyed back home, save for sneaking into the kitchens to cook with Ragnar or spending time with his elder brother, and he could now no longer do either. 

Sour anger bubbled up inside him. Thorfinn had been cruel to throw away the sunstone. He didn’t know of Canute’s situation, that as much was true, but did he have to be so _cruel?_

Boots filling the edge of his vision halted his thoughts and he watched as Thorfinn bent down to gather the entrails and throw them somewhere outside. There was a smear of blood and fluid where they had lied, and Canute stared down at it, and then down at his hands. All the knuckles on his fingers were reddened from cold, and there was more blood seeping under his fingernails and in his cuticles. The rope rash was still stark red against his skin, though it was now starting to bruise a dark purple. It was the kind of purple that only kings could afford. He didn’t know what the pigment was made of, as there was no need for him to know, but he’d heard of how rare it was. How ironic that the human body could replicate it so easily. 

Lost in thought, Canute almost missed the sound of Thorfinn walking back over to the fire.

“Well look at that. Seems you aren’t as pitiful as you look, Highness.” 

His tone was light, taunting, and Canute let his head lower to hide his face. He picked at his nails when the feet in front of him didn’t move, but curled his fingers against his knees when he heard a sigh. 

Canute didn’t stop Thorfinn when he bent once more to collect the meat. He didn’t feel like cooking anymore, not for this man who was sure to taunt him anyway. Instead, Canute rolled forward to crawl to entrance of the cave. He wanted to wash his hands of the blood and other unnameable fluids. His long chainmail tunic clinked as he went and the sound loud as thunder in his ears, so when he made it to the cave’s mouth he undid his belt to take it off. He didn’t need it anyway, as well as the sword he had to carry. He tossed them both to the side before plunging his hands into the snow and scrubbing. The biting cold hurt, but it helped take his mind off the source of his torment. How he wished he’d have stuck to Ragnar just a little closer.

Apparently, while Canute had been busy staring into the belly of the rabbit, Thorfinn had collected some sturdy Y-shaped branches and some stones from the stream to hold them up. The rabbit was run through with another stick and was now hanging nicely over the flames. They’d have food in no time, though that thought just brought Canute’s mind back to Ragnar and what he’d say about their meal.

Canute wraps his thick cloak around himself, avoiding Thorfinn’s gaze as he pushes through the struggle of speaking.

“It…. it’s a shame that.. there’s no vegetables around.”

Thorfinn looked up from chewing at a nail, grunting out a sound that sounded like, “Why?”

“So... we can have a proper meal.” Timidly, Canute met Thorfinn’s eyes from across the fire, “Ragnar always says a balanced diet can help cure just about anything.”

Thorfinn blinked, shifting in his spot. His posture seemed relaxed, a little more open, and he propped an arm on a bent knee. 

“You sure do cling to that Cone Head, don’t ya? You his secret bastard with the old queen or something?”

Thorfinn sent a smirk over at the Prince, but it flickered away when he saw his face. Canute was glaring at him, eyes fierce as if to dare Thorfinn to say anything more. He’d never seen that expression on his face before. It was disquieting. 

They eat in silence once the meat is ready, Thorfinn tearing in without a care while Canute took polite bites. Later, Canute struggles to fall asleep while he wishes for a bedroll, for warm water and tub, for his leg not to hurt anymore. He hears Thorfinn toss and turn restlessly behind him, and wonders if he can’t sleep either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~{ another chapter comes and goes! this one is shorter than the last, but im just happy to be writing so much lately~ 
> 
> the stave that Canute is referring to is the Hulinhjalmur, or the Helm of Disguise, and it looks like this:  
> hedendom . tumblr . com / post / 80074104262 / icelandic-magical-staves-hulinhjalmur 
> 
> its a very beautiful and complicated stave to make, which kid!Canute didn't do properly at all. i noticed that theres not a lot of talk about staves or runes in Vinland Saga, even though the use of 'runic sorcery' was still pretty popular even after Christianity was made commonplace among the Norse people. specifically in Iceland, these greater runes along with many others were found in sorcerer's books and were used for a lot of things. theres even one to help you win at chess!


End file.
